Give Me the Green Light
by newvagabond
Summary: Ratchet/Optimus. Obligatory Synth-En ficlet. Non-sticky. Mwahaha. Written as a refresher between other fics. Enjoy!


**A/N: Ratchet/Optimus.** Obligatory Synth-En ficlet. **Non-sticky**. Mwahaha. Written as a refresher between other fics. Enjoy!

The song choice was obvious from the start. Green Light by John Legend.

_Baby, it's just the thrill of the chase_

_But I've got a feeling that I'm winning this race!_

_Baby, I'm gettin' much closer_

_I just need permission so_

_Give me the green light_

* * *

One look into those radiant emeralds and Optimus Prime knew he was not getting out of this easily.

"Servos up, Prime," Ratchet vocalized, corner of his mouth pulling into an uncharacteristic smirk that showed a gleam of denta. It was powerful, wild, hungry and most of all—_way _overcharged.

It wasn't unheard of to be riled up after a battle. There were times when Optimus returned to base with only one goal: make Ratchet scream his designation. Most other times they were slow and gentle with each other. But after a fight, with injuries and charge crackling and that worried look on Ratchet's face, Optimus wanted nothing more than to pin the 'bot to a wall.

But under the influence of Synthetic Energon, Optimus was... a tad worried about his old friend's state of processor. And maybe more than a little bit aroused at the fire behind those eyes.

"Perhaps another time, old friend," Optimus tried. He could protest all he wanted, but that didn't change the fact that his engine had spluttered at Ratchet's grin. Primus.

Ratchet raised his fists up with a jerk of his helm that said _come on_ and the Prime's smokestacks nearly choked.

Optimus turned his blue optics to survey the land around them. Rock blasted to dust, deep pede-prints in the hard desert ground, and splatters of energon. It had been a minor scuffle really, but Ratchet was quick to charge and send those Vehicons running with their tails between their legs.

And immediately afterwards, the medic suggested they spar. The Prime couldn't recall the last time he'd really sparred with his team members. During quiet periods of inactivity from the Decepticons, it had been a good way to let off some steam and stay active. And also reinforce trust between the Autobots.

Perhaps this would be good for Ratchet. Synth-En built up a lot of charge and it would do no good to let it wear out the medic's circuits.

"A brief session, then," Optimus agreed finally.

He had barely lifted his servos when suddenly Ratchet was in front of him. He leapt back, pivoting on a pede to avoid a swing and used his forearm to block another.

"Don't hold back!" Ratchet didn't let up, kept charging and jumping and swinging. Optimus blocked every hit, surprisingly light on his pedes.

Optimus' audial receptors had only just recognized the _shunk_ of Ratchet's weapons being released before he saw the glimmer of a blade. With expert reflexes, he unsheathed a blade as well and the two met with a resounding clang.

Electricity sparked between them in a bright flash. Ratchet had his green optics turned up, locked tight with his Prime's gaze.

The doctor pressed his blade forward, forcing Optimus to take a half-step back. "I said—Don't. Hold. Back," Ratchet challenged through the crackling charge.

He pulled back and went in for another assault, harder this time, giving Optimus no choice but to fight back.

And there it was, the hit that knocked him off his feet—and no more than a klik after he'd hit the ground was Ratchet on top of him.

The blade sparkled in the desert sun as Ratchet lowered it to his precious Prime's collar.

Blue optics cycled wide and ventilations were withheld. There on his collar, dark cables and sensitive lines were exposed to Ratchet. The doctor knew which ones would scramble his coordination and which ones would spray energon.

Ratchet's sensors detected the unease from the 'bot's energy field. "Don't you trust me..." He turned the blade slowly on its side, pressing the cold metal to Optimus' cheek plating. "Optimus?"

Of course he trusted him. Not only was Ratchet a very skilled physician, but the bond they had formed over the many vorns was strong. He knew his medic would always be there for him. He trusted him with his spark.

It seemed Ratchet wasn't really waiting for an answer and he pulled the blade away from faceplate. After a moment of consideration, he slid it down, using a flat side to caress the truck's visible windshield. At the very end of the stroke, he deliberately turned the weapon so that its point caught glass and left a tiny scratch.

Optimus could not contain the roar of his engine. Ratchet chuckled on top of him. "I knew you would like that." His voice was deep and dark in contrast to the synthetic and fierce glow to his gaze.

Again the orange and white mech used his blades to tickle and tease, scratch and slip the edge into gaps and around joints.

The Prime groaned hard, energy field lighting up. Everything about Ratchet right now was driving him mad. His optics, his vocalizer, playing with his blades, the way he gripped with his thighs.

"Let's frag right here," Ratchet almost growled as he leaned in, prying at a plate dangerously. When Optimus groaned again he bit at his mouth hungrily and freed a servo from weapon-mode to grab roughly at the truck's windows.

At base or quickly in the arctic was easy. But out in the open in the desert—a plane full of humans could fly by at any moment. Fowler would surely blow a brain vessel.

But Ratchet never took control like _this _and—Primus, that was a knife against his pelvic plates.

"Ratchet," Optimus vocalized, servos digging into his lover's thighs. "I agree."

Once they began, both mechs were too distracted to notice the government helicopter nearly falling out of the sky.

_"PRIME!"_


End file.
